Remember the Times
by DarkChocolateAutumn
Summary: Remember the times, because when it all comes crashing down, that's all you'll ever have.  James-centric.


Okay, so it's been a while since I've written anything decent-esque. It's James-centric and in my favourite writing style: second person. Hope you guys like! And review, por favor?

Yeah, yeah, don't own anything, etc.

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><p>i.<p>

There are times where we realize that we are more than ourselves. Where you realize that not everyone is faking their way through life. Where you realize that bonding actually _does_ occur.

When Remus unwillingly unmasks his lycanthropy, you cannot begin to show this boy how much you dearly love him. You don't even know that at the tender age of twelve you are willing to give up your safety and easy life just for him.

These feelings just aren't possible to understand then. Instead, you and Sirius mask everything by dragging Peter to the library on a foggy full moon.

ii.

There are spans of time which you would like to forget in the following years. Things you would like to throw away and pull apart until they're nothing more than emotional rubble. Like that first fight with Sirius.

You were both fourteen, maybe, and in all the years you've been mates – _bestbloodymates_ – you've never quite fought like you did that night. He goes out with a girl that night and when he comes back you coldly remind him that you were supposed to research that night.

He simply doesn't understand the impact of what he's done here. He put snogging a girl over being with them.

_What about Hogsmeade dates, mate?_

_Hogsmeade's different. We're not trying to accomplish something fuckin important then!_

_I see how it is, you bastard. You don't get your girl and your friends at the bleedin time you want and THERE! It's all over in little Jamsiekin's world!_

_I wouldn't expect anything better from a Black, anyway._

Those words had done it.

Sirius wouldn't talk to you for roughly a day. But when you hurtled into your dormitory looking for Sirius, you remember nearly cried out of joy. You'd embraced each other and forgot it'd ever happened. But for a long year afterwards, Sirius was lightly tense around you.

Those words had _really_ done it.

So you dragged him, and _only_ him when you discovered the animigus process in the deep, dark recesses of the Restricted section.

_Is this…for real?_

_Yup._

_James, I think we can finally give him the peace he's needed._

It's true that he cares. But it's also true that he's thrilled that you told him first.

iii.

There are types of people you don't like. Like creepy Professor Windsor who taught Arithmancy and had a penchant of staring oddly at students. There are types of people whom you can't help love. Like Evans with her gorgeous auburn hair that captivates your every sense of being, or Padfoot with his sardonic humour and crusty moods that bite like hell.

Then, there are types of people whom you loathe.

Snivellus has done nothing but betray her, tease her behind her back, and break her heart that shined with the light of a million suns and stars and glitter. He has done nothing but look out for himself and rid himself of the half blood status that's apparently _tainted_ him.

You've never heard of anything more ridiculous in your sixteen years of life. Ever.

But you now have to convince yourself that you really don't hate Sirius for nearly leading Snape to his death. He's done it out of immaturity, you know. You know.

You want to say that you saved him that night because you couldn't let a fellow student die, couldn't let your best friend kill him, and couldn't let your brother live with the blame.

Oh, no.

At the time, you have no bloody clue as to why you went after his pale, slimy ass in the middle of the night, running without bothering to keep your voice down.

You realize years after you pull Snape out of the passageway and threaten him to the ends of the earth and back (and yelling at Sirius until you're blue in the face), that you didn't want anyone else to die because of the mounting tensions in the war. The tensions in a war that shouldn't exist in the first place.

It's no longer about a dead Snape, a guilty Sirius, and a near-suicidal Remus. It's all about the _fucking war_.

And you feel pretty bad about it all too. Because you're just stopped fighting out on the lines just last week. You just went into hiding. And your son, poor Harry, is in danger because of these raving lunatics. Because of _fucking blood status that doesn't matter._

Right now you're tasting blood again as you vomit repeatedly into the toilet.

This war was never meant to be fought.

iv.

There are the moments and blips of time and space that you would like to cherish for a million years. These forgotten slips of love and life and _just plain innocence_ are tucked away in the recesses of your too tired mind.

Like the time all four of you were sitting silently under a beech tree on a late sunny afternoon.

Peter was scratching away at a drawing of the all of you. Sirius was slumped against your side, tired from the quidditch match yesterday, and Remus was heavy on your side too. You mentioned earlier that his wounds would be magnified by the harshness of the tree's bark. He softly looked at you and muttered, _"It would hurt you."_

Even softer you whispered, _"We can carry your chains too."_

Reluctantly he scooted over and leaned against your side, and his breathing eased into the surrounding air. Sirius lifted some of his weight off of you and smiled tenderly at the scene. Remus continued to read, Sirius continued to rest, Peter continued to sketch, and you continued to stare off into the distance, far past the Black Lake.

Life with them is never boring.

And when you discover that Remus had fallen asleep against your side, you shifted to make him more comfortable and Sirius removed the tome from his bruised fingers. On an impulse, you brush the tiniest of kisses against Remus' hair.

You laid back and, with them all, simply were.

v.

There are things that you all do just to make sure that you're all okay. That guarantee that the blood from your hearts are still pumping to every part of your body. That keep your mind from crashing into that endless sea called despair. Like the night after your first raid.

You and Lily and Sirius and Remus were all huddled in a tiny house, Fideleus charmed and Unplottable to the point where even the dust surrounding them couldn't tell that they were there. In all, they were (_supposedly_) safe.

But you'd all seen Voldemort that night. You'd all fought against his supporters. Sirius had a scrape running from his shoulder down to his left hip. Remus' whole thigh was smothered in blood. And Lily, your _wife_ Lily, had a bloodied lip and nearly had a bad run in with an unknown curse. You yourself had to be given several draughts of calming potion, along with the rest, in order to recover from his slight taste of the Cruciatus Curse.

And when you've all cleaned up, Lily whispered in the smallest voice, "James, I'm pregnant."

You smiled weakly and the boys hugged her tightly, and you reached down and shakily kissed her belly. You can't help thinking that there's at least there is some good in this world. And when the Remus and Sirius insist on taking the floor and couch, Lily all but cried.

"Let's all take the bed." And without another word you enlarged the bed and placed Lily in the middle. Remus scooted into the middle as well, and you and Sirius flanked the sides. Lily kissed all of you, and soon all three of them are fast asleep.

The sound of their steady breathing is enough for you, just for right now, and you can't think of anything more beautiful, more wholesome than this moment.

And in one fell swoop, you breathe yourself into sleep with your family.


End file.
